


Am I in Love With Just a Theme?

by Pathologies



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Mystery, Other, Post-Dream No More Ending (Hollow Knight), Reincarnation, The Grimm Troupe DLC (Hollow Knight), all the fuckery that involves multiple lives, another pairing will happen but won't tag until updated, brumm and Grimm are both lovesick fools, but of surrealism, spiciness in the later chapters if you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pathologies/pseuds/Pathologies
Summary: Devotion spans many lifetimes. So does heartache.
Relationships: Brumm/Grimm (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	1. Prologue: Across an Endless Plain

Lub dub, lub dub. The refrain is the silent drum, the metronome that plays to his music. Even when he sleeps after they have no one to perform for, he counts the steady number of beats to the heart. It is a curse, to be lulled to sleep by the thing which enchains you. The dance of this codependance twists and bends in his dream. Oh yes, the musician of the troupe dreams like all of the troupe does.

But dreams offer no comfort. The larger insect finds himself in the circus tent, the same place as before. Only it doesn’t feel so real, does it? The red of the flame that glowed so subtly before now stain the eyes with nothing but red hues. Everything is scarlet, like the flame they collect.

But that doesn’t concern Brumm. A flash of cloak cross his eyes, Brumm wants to follow the appairation. The path of his eyes leads through a crowded corridor, not crowded with people but with tent fabric. Brumm is squeezing past this nearly suffocating corridor when the vision of his phantom becomes clear: the troupe master himself.

“Master--” he calls out, his voice muffled by the tent fabric. The tall insect has moved one more. Brumm reaches through the very last voidlike slit in the tent.

There is no floor. Brumm feels his limb make the panicked swim in the air when he stumbles in the air. Down below the soft glow of the fires continue down, down, down to the point where the abyss twinkled with soft glowing stars. Brumm is falling. By some grace he only manages to snag a swing. He grasps the handles tight, hurtling back and forth across the yawning chasm too big for just a circus tent. As he swings he sees the troupe master sitting idly across the beam of another swing. He does it so casually, so elegantly that Brumm feels it’s unnatural.

Daring, Brumm swings to catch another bar, closer to Grimm. The thin appiraiton looks different, at least in this dream. Like everything he has seen, Grimm has a deeper crimson tint to his hues, a devilish scarlet. Despite this vertigo-inducing situation, the musician of the troupe wishes to come closer, a moon finding the gravity well of a distant planet.

He feels a spark lighting in his spine when he feels Grimm notice him. That weathered voice, like the sizzle of a flame going out, elegant yet crispy, “A pleasure you’re here, friend. I wondered when you would travel this realm once again.”

Brumm’s heart flickers with hesitation. “Your realm...” He looks downward, at the abyss. This must be the Nightmare King, this version of Grimm he speaks with. Of the two times he has seen the Nightmare King, he never is truly sure if this is the Grimm he knows or if this is a different Grimm. Then again…  
he’s known Grimm in many forms, hasn’t he?

As if he senses this airy doubt the musician sails on, the troupe master and nightmare king grasps both wrists, hoisting him to the swing.

The momentum rocks both of them, sailing through the air as Grimm stands so elegantly with no bound to gravity. Brumm watches him, the admiration rising in his chest once more. The musician speaks with that heavy timbre, the soft yet deep melody in his throat, “You are the troupe master I know, aren’t you?”

With an elegant flourish of his cape, he flips upside down, his feet inexplicably bound to the bottom of the swing as Brumm grasps the rope of the trapeeze swing to keep himself from falling over. Grimm replies, his red eyes peering into the black pools of the troupe musician’s dark inky eyes, “Have I made you doubt who I am? Am I not always your troupe master? Do we not always serve the flame?”

There is where the rub lies. He crouches down, shaking from the momentum, the dizzyness of the swing as he locks his gaze with the Nightmare King, “I feel I know you...but yet I do not truly know you as I want to...” his speech trails off, catching himself for speaking so boldly about something normally left unsaid.

Grimm smiles, gracious even in his upside down state, “As you want to...please, my trusted musician, explain what you mean.”

How easily silence finds him once again. Words can be so hard to form, especially when they tread the shores of subjects left unsaid for so long. Trepidation hangs like he does over the flickering lights in the darkness below.

But Grimm, the Nightmare King and troupe master, will wait for eternity to get the answer. Brumm speaks once more, “The ritual, what happens when we fail it?”

In a shocking spin of movement, Grimm takes Brumm by the scruff of his fluffy mane and pulls him downwards. Brumm is afraid, not of the fall but what the Nightmare King wishes to show or do. But is this fear just borne from a different fear? The fear that despite all his service he may not know Grimm at all. That neither of them have pierced into each other’s hearts...the fall feels less and less like falling and more like floating.

Despite their chaotic direction, Grimm guides the duo right side up again, hands around shoulders. Brumm reaches for the waist of the troupe master, a ghost of feelings guiding his movements. These positions, is this a dance? Grimm whispers to the musician, “We need the ritual. Without it, what existence we have? The heart of nightmare will die without it.”

The heart of nightmare...Brumm reflects on the meaning of those words. Yes, he knows the constant lub dub that echoes in their ears. Grimm arches backwards, Brumm reaches forward as one leg lifts behind in the air. He touches those robes, his body melting into the flow of Grimm’s movements as a dancer “But what if there is life outside the ritual?”

Grimm’s torso waves in a reedlike flow, Brumm’s arms following those same movements. Grimm replies, “That is not for us to know, my dear musician. Our duty is to collect the flames and continue the ritual.”

Together they straighten like a rod, slowly twisting around one another in a delicate air pirouette. Brumm presses, “But...” he must speak his mind, “Do I know you are the Grimm I knew? How do I know this song we play hasn’t changed without us knowing?”

Grimm presses the bug back in a dip, “Do you not feel the love your troupe master has? Does it melody not sound as though it came from your hands?” He buries his face in the fluff of Brumm’s collar, the warmth traveling all over the bug’s body, “It was Grimm who brought you into this nightmare.”

A nightmare, he says. To Brumm it feels like a nightmare with its ambiguity but yet...he craves the closeness they’re sharing now. He feels the somber melody he’s played for his troupe master playing as his hands gently touch Grimm’s back and neck. “No...you’re still the same song. I only wish...” he trails into silence again, “For the song to be perfect.”

Grimm pulls himself off Brumm’s chest and now puts his face against Brumm, a kiss between two souls. Brumm feels his soul melting, evaporating in the heat of the troupe master’s affection. Grimm murmurs softly, hands delicately rubbing circles in the insect’s arms, “Then my dear...would you do one thing?”

Devotion pours in his heart, the fires streaking past them like meteors in space. His devotion pours from the brim of his heart, overflowing into one single, “Yes.”

Grimm the Nightmare King, the troupe master whispers, “Wake up.”

Brumm finds himself, alone with his instrument. He knows Grimm is asleep. He holds up his hands, looking at themselves and looking at one of the torches that light the circus. He mimes grasping the fire in his hands, “Hmmm.”

The nightmare has ended. His doubt, albeit for different reasons now, has not. He approaches his troupe master, still silently asleep.

Brumm whispers to the sleeping form, "Are you a slave? Just like me?"


	2. I: A Misty Memory

Nymm feels the cool, dry air of Dirtmouth hit his minute alabaster horned face as he woke again. He touches his face, his face freshly wet. He rubs at his eyes, letting the clear liquid rub into his small fur. Has he been crying again? But why?

On the bench again, he takes in the town, the only town he really knows. He has slept on the bench plenty of times, but none of those times does he recall what he has dreamed. Nymm hops off the bench once again, ready to begin another dusty day anew.

A voice like a hollowed out tree trunk, deep and sonorous, calls out, “You’ve been sleeping on the bench again.”

“Yes,” he nods in agreement, preparing to fiddle with the notes on his instrument, “I find good rest on it.”

Nymm knows who it is: Elderbug. The kindly insect has allowed him to take a semi-residence in this old town. But of course he still voices concerns, “Yes, the bench is a good place for company and relaxation. Wouldn’t it be better to take a home, a place with a roof over your head and warmth?”

He shakes his head, squeezing the instrument to play a melancholy tune. It’s the same tune Nymm has played, or at least the melody: something long and forlorn, a song calling out for something missing. But that note, that tone, has long gone from his mind. Or...was it ever there at all? “There’s something I have to wait for. It will come soon, I feel it.”

Elderbug gives a gentle sigh, approaching the bench to stand by. He replies thoughtfully, “Very well. Perhaps instead, we can stay here awhile and listen to your music. Your song truly helps lift the dust from this town.”

He bows his head graciously, “Thank you. I wish I knew where I learned this...every time I play...the tune makes me feel as though I am missing someone...I wish I knew why I was here in the first place.”

“That seems to be the power of music, it makes us miss things we never had in the first place.” Elderbug laments.

But Dirtmouth, and Hallownest for that matter, has had a spell of silence. Like something cutting the cacophony of the kingdom below, something has made Hallownest into an empty home. But like all homes, something has to come and find shelter in that abandoned home, right? Or is that home too broken?

Nymm walks off, waving to Elderbug, “You have my gratitude, kind sir.”

“Leaving already?” he sounds disappointed, but not surprised.

“Only for so long. I will return. I feel this thing I’m waiting for...it will come back for me.” he makes a new refrain of his song, this one still carrying the sullen notes of its melody.

Elderbug waves, a gesture of understanding.

Nymm continues, right to the edge of Dirtmouth where only the wind whips at the dust where the edge of several hunks of rock, well beyond the eyeline of a small insect like Nymm. He sighs, gazing outwards. What lies beyond this place? Beyond Hallownest? Could there where his heart keeps wandering to?

He continues his solemn tune, fingers playing those notes like second nature. His ears, his fingers are so deeply involved in the song that has no name, he doesn’t recognize the heavy thump happening right by him, the kick of cloud dust in the air. Only when his eyes dart to where the dust still clouds he stops his song.

Nymm knows the dangers of Hallownest after being here for so long, he won’t take any risks. He remains deadly still until...a face appears from the dust. Pale, empty-eyed. Ghostlike.

He knows this one. Or, he remembers this one. Except now...they seem to be taller? And their horns have grown in greater length?

Preferring to keep his distance, Nymm waits as they get closer to finally speak his mind, “We met haven’t we?”

Slowly, the ghost in their cloak nods slowly, no words or even noise issuing from their mouth. Nymm somehow felt comforted, even despite their blank inky black circles for eyes.

“My eyes must deceive me, it feels like ages since I’ve seen you...though for you it seems like it was longer,” he tells the creature, dragging a dry awkwardness along the ground of their meeting.

As though this is the first time being told this, they inspect themselves, touching up their head and limbs. Just as quietly, they compared the height of Nymm to themselves with one hand. Nymm didn’t mind, this feels just as confusing for him.

“The charm? Do you still have it?” he remembers the Carefree Melody charm he gave the ghost-like bug.

They nod, slowly reaching into the folds of their cloak when they hesitate. They point at the musician’s instrument, fingers flexing.

“Music, is that what you wish for dear friend?”

They nod again.

Nymm beams, “For someone so kind...I can play a song for you. So that it might lighten your load after such a long journey.”

His long missing friend seems to reach back into their cloak when...a stumble. They stumble forward. Nymm pushes his arms forward to catch but too late the being collapses by their side, unresponsive.

Nymm prods at them, gently trying to stir them from their sleep. The black carapace of the ghost has seemed to take an almost melting miasma like consistency. Nymm sighs, “How unfortunate...perhaps the village can help...”

The bug is far greater than them, yet he begins to struggle pulling the bigger bug at a snail’s pace. Somewhere halfway back to town, a jolt makes something fall from the ghost’s cloak. Nymm pauses to inspect it. It’s what he suspects, the Carefree Melody. A token of friendship. If there is something he can gladly give, it is this…

Yet he finds something odd about it. The mask face of the charm, usually lifeless, has taken a red glow in its eyes. And the eyes are pulsing.

Nymm feels as though he has looked into the keyhole of a door his curiosity has not prepared him for. He shudders, putting the charm back on the ghost’s person. He still had a ways to go back to town...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song played by Nymm is an accordion rendition "Who She" by I Monster, give it a listen to set mood


	3. II: A Lost Embrace

The vessel awakens. Awakening, how odd. They never really have slept before.

Their body? No, they need to backtrack. They were one, then became nothing. Or rather, they were nothing and became a bigger nothing. Such backtracking is hard when one has been passing between sleep and awake and sleep again. And now they’re on the floor of someplace, faces above them. One? No, two, three. Those faces, they know them, don’t they? The map maker, the map shop keeper, and yes...the lost musician.

The wandering vessel rises, looking at their hands. Like black shadowy material, but forcibly molded. They are almost like a bug, certainly bigger like their sibling the Hollow one...yet...how could that be? They reach for their face, only to get discouraged by the squat map maker in the glasses.

“Please, I wouldn’t aggravate anything further.” Cornifer chides, easing them back into the pile of blankets.

They just feel confused, waving idly at their head.

Iselda pats their hand, “It’s lucky your friend brought you in….though I don’t think either of us are the right kind of bug for the job.”

“I think...with time they should start feeling better. They’re looking well already.” Nymm offers, voice carrying the soft notes of hope.

Iselda sighs, “If you say so. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

“Until then both of us will give us the space you need until our ghostly friend feels ready to walk again,” Conifer moves out to the front of the shop. Soon his wife follows, leaving the vessel and the little fur-collared bug alone.

They give Nymm a blank stare, a loss for any of this. It doesn’t quite feel right...like they shouldn’t be here. Did they do their task fighting the infection wrong? Did it still linger? Should they even be in this world? But to Nymm, all that comes out is merely confusion, a look of loss.

Nymm sighs, trying to console. “I’m at a loss what happened...but I believe that what happened is a new song for both of us. The illness that plagued this land is gone and you...you came back. It eases me to see a familiar friend in these confusing times.”

But the vessel still doesn’t understand. Only blank, confused stares as they gesture around their face can they give.

“Ah yes...it seems you sustained some injury. There is a crack to your face...but I think with rest and my music healing wind will find you, my friend.”

For the first time they slowly trace the cracks in their face. Yes, they do have facial cracks don’t they? In addition to having grown bigger, the dark that makes their being has seeped through. Almost their mask have been hastily put them together...

Not missing a beat, the little bug continues, “I don’t know why you changed...sometimes things do not have a logic. Sometimes they only have a lyric. They happen only because it fits the verse...I believe you, my friend, are a part of this song as much as I. And that’s a good thing.”

The vessel takes in Nymm’s metapohor...for a second before reaching to rap at their own face once again. No new cracks, nothing they can feel or hear. Yet Nymm reaches to try and pull their hand away. “I would refrain from that...perhaps more rest would do you good….”

No, they feel fine. The vessel gets off the floor, ready to go...go where? Do what? The infection is gone, they say. Maybe yes, they should see if it is truly gone. No, that’s not it. They don’t feel any...particular motivation. At least right now. Like somehow their drive has just gone up. Maybe that is what all they were needed for. Maybe being here after is a mistake...

The vessel slumps back to where they previously rested. Nymm takes this as a sign to support them, “Still tired? No shame in that. You had a long journey, there’s still time to gain your strength. Here, I can play you a gentle song.”

The vessel shrugs. Music hasn’t affected them one way or the other, but the effort people put into their craft like Sheo or Nymm, they always appreciate that. They nod softly, gathering their cloak to themselves like a blanket.

Nymm presses the notes to a delicately light song, full of sleepy notes. However, Nymm never quite counts on himself getting more rash with the buttons and missing a few, his eyes fading in and out. Before he knows it, he has gone black…

_It’s the circus again. Brumm stands before his troupe master. Grimm has his arms outstretched. It must have been moments, but to Brumm it somehow feels like ages. He races to catch Grimm in that embrace, the massive black cloak-like wings taking him in the troupe master’s hold._

_“Master...I...” Brumm said softly._

_Grimm shushes him with a delicate backhand stroke down his face, “Yes, I know...you did not foresee what your actions would do. What banishment truly meant. But I forgive you...”_

_“I am sorry...I did it so you could be free...” Brumm rests his face in Grimm’s abdomen, the bug being that tall._

_“So you did. And you can help free me.” He continues stroking the musician’s face, “The one who called us...there is another opening...make sure they complete the task at hand...it will be like instinct to you...”_

_But the words are fading. Brumm struggles to catch what he says. “Master? Please, tell me again. I did not hear the first--”_

Nymm has tears down his face again. Another strange dream. He can never quite catch what he dreams, can he? He glances to the vessel. At least rest comes easy to them. At least they look asleep. He can’t quite tell if they need sleep or not.

Something else he senses as much stranger. A small light glows, the same throbbing red glow. It grows stronger now. Defying his restraint, Nymm just has to look. He must. Fumbling through the cloak he grabs the charm. It feels red hot, the eyes flashing with increasing frequency. He drops it from the pain, backing away as the charm shakes and clatters. It’s on fire.

Conifer and Iselda burst in to see the flaming charm. Conifer looks at Iselda as to figure out an explanation.

Iselda shrugs, “I never had anything like that in my wares.”

“Oh dear, perhaps I should get something to put out the fire.” the map maker bug offers.

“I don’t think anything is going to work on a fire like that,” Iselda says as she stands in between the charm and her husband protectively.

The face in the charm, it cracks, takes on a face of its own: black, hornlike. The flame takes the shape of a body. And then...a body forms within the flames, black and grey with hints of red.

“Friend, apologies!” yells Nymm, “I didn’t think it would do this!”

The vessel watches, not afraid, but fascinated. The fire grows in intensity as everyone else fear grows. This fire reaches a crescendo, bursting into nothingness as the body now lands on all fours to the floor in its birth.

Nymm feels the ghost of pins and needles. He knows this being...he feels the most strange, aching nostalgia. Why? Why did it reside within his charm?

The being rises, its crimson eyes settling onto the black vessel’s eyes. Graciously he curtsies to the vessel, “Ah yes, you live! Before my very eyes. You remember me, no?”

There is a sluggish moment before the vessel nods.

“Yes, I was the one you nourished with the flame. And now, we meet again under different circumstances. Happy ones nonetheless.” He reaches to touch the void-cracked face, “How you’ve changed...how we have both changed...”

“Oh no,” Iselda shields her husband, “Those circus strangers. I remember how creepy they were.”

Nymm blinks. Circus? Why does that sound so familiar…

“Yes, I may have come from them. But I was merely their offspring.”

Conifer tries to comfort, “See, he’s only one of their children!”

This is a lot to take in for the vessel. Yes, that’s right. The Grimmchild. But shouldn’t have banishment stopped the growth of the Grimmchild? Or how did it work? They did appreciate them aiding their quest, so seeing another familiar face is more than welcome. Even if they did get touchy. They offer a piece of ground for the bug to sit with them. If they are going to be here, they may as well be here and be confused with them.

Nymm feels just as baffled. He gently tugs at the cloak of the Grimmchild. He glances behind him, “Yes?”

“Apologies but...do we know each other?”

A pause as he eyes the little horned bug. After his inspection he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m afraid we never met.”

He means no harm by the truth, but yet...why does Nymm feel so disappointed? Nymm looks downward, so forlorn, “But...we...know each other.”

“Either way,” Iselda shakes her head, “I really don’t know if we can put up four people in this shop. It’s pretty small as is.”

"Can't we at least give them a chance?" asks Conifer.

Iselda sighs, "Well..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vessel and Grimmchild in this are not as tall as the Hollow Knight yet, but are slightly taller than Hornet.


	4. III: It Was a Door

They didn’t know what to say. They didn’t know what to say, sandwiched on this Dirtmouth bench between the kind yet tormented Nymm and the strangely confident yet mysterious spawn of Grimm. It seems to be a habit for the vessel to pick up absolute strangers. They know the Grimmchild back when they were a grub, but that felt so long ago now. Here they are, bloomed. Just like them. But Grimmchild is a stranger. They couldn’t be a carbon copy of Grimm...at least they didn’t think so. The details of the ritual always eludes them. Is Grimmchild even supposed to exist in this state?

On the other side? A musician bug, with no memory. Friendly, for sure, but they could tell something haunts them. Something about this Grimmchild bothers them, which made it all the more strange given they never have seemed to have ever met Grimm or the Troupe in the first place.

And here the vessel sits between them, not saying anything, not just because they lacked any voice but because they lacked any words to sign or gesture. Nothing came to mind. They aren’t the best conversationalist in the first place. Usually when people have nothing to say to them, they leave. Yet both of them have nothing to say to the vessel but they have remained here for a long, long time.

Finally the Grimmchild speaks up, “Shadowy one, I feel it has been ages since we had been together...what new exploits have you found?”

How does one explain ‘fought with a god light being that was the source of the infection, a the cost of my own physical body’?

...in the end they make several stabby motions in the air.

“Ah yes, seeking a good fight as always.” the black and red insect beams, gently leaning against the now taller void being, “So much bigger now, means you can fight much bigger enemies—though you never had problems with that didn’t you?”

The white-masked vessel squeezes their eyes shut. Thinking back even to the False Knight, who squashed them several times, they didn’t consider any of their fights ‘easy’. Yet they have managed it without complaint, without tiring. It’s just something they considered they had to do. They never have any idea of ‘quitting on their part. But now…

Everything feels so jarring, so awkward. Grimmchild just laughs, “So what big undertaking will you take on now, friend?”

What indeed. The vessel gathers their cloak around them. They’ll keep napping. How about that.

Of course, Grimmchild doesn’t take this seriously. “You had plenty of sleep before didn’t you?” He isn’t stopping until he sufficiently made things awkward for everyone, “And you, the little bug. You haven’t spoken to me ever since I told you I don’t remember you. It’s unfortunate, but we all have to move past it.”

  
But that won’t sit well with Nymm, “I can’t. I keep having dreams I can’t remember or a life I can’t remember. Imagine if you’re trying to remember a song and all you have are just two notes. That’s it. Two notes. Both of you are those single notes.”

“Unfortunate,” Grimmchild comments, giving a look to the vessel that they might somehow placate their little musician pal.

However, this gives the vessel only an epiphany. This is their new purpose. This is what they can do, their new task now that their old one has ended: find out Nymm’s past. They couldn’t give thanks to Grimmchild with nothing other than a hug.

“Oh why...yes...” the Grimmchild still contains a bit of their parent’s(?) manners, “You’re welcome?” He pats their back, returning the gesture.

Did Nymm consider for a minute that he should join the hug? Maybe in the spirit of the moment hug Grimmchild too? But no...Grimmchild is already looking quite thrown off by the ghost’s hug, and they actually knew each other.

Instead Nymm verbally brings himself into the conversation, “Have you decided something friend? Maybe an answer to this conundrum we’re all facing?”

The vessel nods, kneeling down into the dirt as they began to crudely draw. They draw the basic image of a moth, surrounded by what looked like sticks? Sticks and floating circles?

“A moth?” asks Nymm, “But what does a moth have to do with this?”

The vessel shakes their head, elaborating with more elaborate designs for the mandala-like wheels they saw in the dreaming. They really should have taken more art lessons from Sheo.

Grimmchild scrutinizes their basic art. He beams, “Ah yes...well done, ghostly one. They mean the resting grounds. I remember visiting near there once. Back in our travels. What could be there that could help us?”

They shrug. A hunch. They headed towards the Dirtmouth station, motioning the other two bugs onward.

“Ah,” Nymm never feels more lost in his life. Yes he trusts the vessel, their long-lost friend, “Very well, we’ll follow you, to the ends of the Hallownest.”

Grimmchild casts an aside smile, “Your loyalty is so endearing, a shame we could not have met before. What a trio we would have made.”

Why does that feel like a pin sticking in his heart? He seems to have focused so hard on what he said, thinking of what it would be like if they were friends...if they did know each other...if only they had more…

The vessel hits a bell, letting it ring as a rumble grew from the tunnel. A beetle, huge in size diligently comes to a stop. She rumbles low, “Ah…the little one...you aren’t so little anymore. But it doesn’t matter. With all that commotion down in the Crossroads, I worried you may have gotten caught in the chaos, little one.”

They give a gentle touch to her shoulder. Of all mercies, seeing Stag iss one of the better ones. She sighs with appreciation, “I see you brought friends.”

Grimmchild bows, “Yes, I am the Grimmchild. We might have met at one point, I understand if you don’t remember.” he gestures to the little musician, “This other one is Nymm, another friend of our ghost.”

Stag murmurs, “Any friends of this little one are welcome on my back. The roads may be emptier than before, even more quiet...but my duty will never end. Where can I take you little one.”

Gently patting her face, they motion to one of the stops engraved in the plaque. Resting Grounds.

She nods, “Very well, let us be on our way.”

As they ride the noble beetle, Nymm has elected to ride the upper saddle while Grimmchild and vessel catch up. Well, Grimmchild does a lot of talking while the ghost quietly listens. Nymm feels his hands gripping tighter with each inch closed between the two of them. How easily does Grimmchild rest his head against the vessel’s shoulder, how easily they do not brush it off. How close they are...why does he feel this way towards his resurrected friend? What makes him want to get between the two of them? What’s wrong with him?

He needs to distract himself, put some atmosphere in this dour air. He plays a tune on his instrument once again.

Only when they hop off Stag does Grimmchild give a gracious bow, “My good sir, thank you for the lovely music to accompany our ride. I am sure our friends the ghost and the beetle ride appreciated it as well. So solemn, yet romantic. You are truly skilled as musician.”

If the ride drowns his spirits then that acknowledgment returns them...somewhat, “I live to give good music to all.”

“And what an exciting living it is.” he gently touches the smaller insect’s arm nub, “Continue your music, Nymm.”

“Oh yes...of course.” if he has nothing else, at the least he will always have his music.

The vessel passes an awkward between-look at both of them before kneeling to Nymm. That should make him feel more appreciated, right? The whole ride has felt strange to the void being, with Nymm sitting back all third wheel as they felt the warmth of Grimmchild against them. They didn’t Not Like Grimmchild against them...but should they have? Should there be a third emotion to go with it?

Maybe that’s what is so unpleasant about this business: emotions where there usually wasn’t one. A nausea that comes to those who haven’t eaten in weeks suddenly eaten and now it feels as though one could easily get sick. A sickness of emotions. But emotions are not so easily expelled once eaten.

They wave goodbye to Stag. She offers this in return, “Remember little one. When some things are silenced, others may be awakened in their place.”

After this warning and goodbye, the way to the Resting Grounds is a bit of a walk, but they get to the eerily blue cemetery where great souls laid. The faded blue of vegetation mixing with ruins half-crumbling standing in silent memorial. Nymm silently looks on in awe. Grimmchild murmurs, hand to chin.

The vessel by instinct goes for their Dream Nail. They grasp nothing. There is no Dream Nail. There is no Dreaming. Did they...destroy it? Did they basically destroy a whole afterlife? The vessel doesn’t linger on that dreadful line of thought, it isn’t in their nature. They were here for Nymm and Grimmchild. They once fought one of the Grimmkin here for the ritual. If there is a reason for Nymm feeling a connection, maybe the vessel can find it.

The two follow them to the home of the Seer, the moth who taught them the use and history of the Dream Nail and the Radiance. If anyone can help them back to the dreaming and maybe look around in Nymm’s memory. As usual, they only go by guesswork and trial and error. It works most of the time.

...she’s gone.

“Oh dear, did we miss someone ghost?” asks Grimmchild.

“Telling from their face, they are long gone,” comments Nymm.

That’s right. They have dissipated, right into the afterlife...that’s probably gone now. The vessel sits for a moment, clenching their eyes tight. Well, now they’re back at zero.

“Wait,” Nymm says.

Their attention turns to the little bug.

“Something about this place...is familiar...” he wanders outside, the wind rusting their neck fur, “Like once I knew this place, heard the wind’s song well.”

“Perhaps you died, and came back to life?” adds Grimmchild unhelpfully.

But for the vessel, it’s something. They urge Nymm on with palms pushing forward to the air. Continue, keep going.

“You want me to keep going? But...I am not sure where I am taking you...” Nymm says.

It didn’t matter to the vessel.

“How interesting! Your friend is quite the mystery isn’t he?” Grimmchild adds.

The two follow Nymm for a series wander, stop, pause, turn a way, then stop again, and go back another way. They did this for several turns, with the vessel not questioning it once. The only thing that could be considered a complaint comes from Grimmchild, “Walking feels so boring sometimes. I miss being able to fly.”

The vessel ignores this, as does Nymm. Eventually they come to a crevice.

  
“Here,” the musician says, “I don’t know why, but it feels right.”

The vessel inspects it...yes, they went here before. It leads to the City of Tears, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s where Nymm’s past lies. Before the vessel takes the lead, Grimmchild squeezes in, “Onward we go!”

They crawl and climb till all three come to the realization...this dark space? This tunnel and cave? It is a catacomb. Littering the area are several sarcophagi, many buried with just heads and feet sticking out. The vessel squints. They’re snails. All of them are snails.

“Hmm...” Nymm remarks out loud.

They can see why he does. In the middle of this tomb stands a tall sarcophagus, all done in the shape of a magnificent snail.

“Dear friend of the ghost,” Grimmchild says, “Are you saying you come from snails?”

“No...I’m not sure...” Nymm has a temporary personal crisis.

All of them, save the vessel, feel intimidated by the strange atmosphere this tomb gives. The vessel, however...walks face to face to the coffin.

What should they do? Nothing happened before. Maybe they can try knocking so Nymm doesn’t feel too bad. They do just that. Clang clang their onyx knuckles rap against the sarcophagus.

Nothing?

No. Two white eyes peel open in the black space where the head is, blinking awake before their disturbers. Then those same eyes squint to the lower half moon of mirth.

“Ohohoho,” a voice within says, “What a worn down thing you are, took a bad trip didn’t you?...” Almost seamlessly takes a dangerous drip into venomous whimsy, “And you brought others who are just as dangerously asleep, didn’t you? Ohoho, ooooh no, I’ll have to do something about that!”

“Wait, what?” asks Nymm.

No time to answer questions, the coffin hisses, eons of metal now clicking and swinging open to the trio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Nymm plays this chapter is "Protection" by Alcest


	5. IV: What Is Death To Moths....

The coffin clicks to reveal the black mass of a shiny slimy skin with two white mischievous eyes. “Resurrection….everyone is doing it these days, no? And what we have here? Old faces made new yes yes!”

“I take it they’re not related to you,” Nymm says.

Ghost watches on with the same point-blank bewildered expression they would lend most weirdo denizens of Hallownest. An oddity himself, the Snail Shaman once mentioned to Ghost about his deceased (at least till now) aunts and uncles. The one in the Resting Grounds they failed to meet and once therefore Snail Shaman neglected to mention.

As usual, this snail is being cryptic. Snail Shaman’s family must all be like this. She titters again, “Those looks on your faces tell me you’re lost yes yes. Believe you’re in the right place but the wrong person!”

Ghost shakes their head, vaguely making the shape of a nail, then a moth. Nymm squints his eyes, “...my friend is suggesting a moth warrior?”

“Or perhaps,” she leans in, that face of one who knows more than the other person, “A weapon a moth had, yes? Moths were masters of the light were they not? Snails...we are masters of the dark. Your friend.” she points to Ghost, “Has dark oozing from their body, yes yes. Worrisome isn’t it? Shadows become harder to separate from shadows the less light there is, yes?”

Grimmchild for once lost his calm lackadaisical manner when he looked at Ghost, “What does this giant slug mean? Riddles are only fun used sparingly, shaman.”

She laughs, “Hoho what is something that is once made an abomination of death and then returned to nothingness and now comes back? That is something else even I cannot truly say ohoho.”

“I’m dearly lost,” Nymm laments, “Can’t we get a hint?”

The shaman shakes her head, “You came thinking this was the right place, yes yes! No no no! Right person, but wrong place, hoho! The answer to your questions, your ailments...lies not in this world. It lies in a place familiar to that creature there in your company,” she points to Grimmchild.

He gives an airy huff, “’Creature’. That’s blunt.”

“Ohohoh!” she says, “I only speak the truth. This place...it cannot be reached by nail or white magic.”

“What place is that?” asks Nymm.

“The Nightmare Cabaret.” she says, her arms slowly outstretching, “How to enter? Ohoho, void magic that requires. And what better entrance of void magic than through me? Yes yes, a simple thing as an embrace can be a doorway to another world.”

Ghost turns away. They are not. Doing that.

Grimmchild sees where his friend is going and throws his hand out to the shaman, “And let you die?!”

“Please don’t disappear...or however she put it. I don’t think it’s good for you.” Nymm begs. Did it mean if this friend disappear it might even his chances of connecting with Grimmchild? Maybe, but at the cost of losing his other friend. The first one that treated him with a real bit of decency when he appeared at Dirtmouth, alone and lost. “Maybe we can try just for a moment...” the fur-collared beetle trudges towards the smooth gooey mass of snail in an embrace when he...sinks in. Quite fast. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

Grimmchild’s eyes bug out, surprised but intrigued. He looks to Ghost, “Do you think you could cut her open?”

Ghost points to the nothing over their shoulder. Does that answer their question?

The red-and-black insect shrugs, “Of course…I was merely making sure you didn’t have any surprises under your cloak. I suppose I can dig my way out~”

Grimmchild gracefully walks up to the slug, his clawed hand ready to attack. Yet when he sinks his hand in, he finds it goes in...like a hot stick through melted caramel. Trying to keep his composure, Grimmchild makes his wave to Ghost, “I’ll find your sad friend! Don’t wait up for me!”

But by the time he gets neck deep in snail, Grimmchild’s face grimaces hard. Of course Ghost wouldn’t wait up for him.  
  
They give the snail a wide-eye look of ‘do they really have to get sucked into your body?’.

She laughs, “Your friends are fine! But...they might not be if you keep them waiting ohoho!”

Snail Shaman’s family is kind of the worst, they decide. Before heading towards their skin, the snail stops them, “Ah-nonono! Before you go….” she passes a simple snail club to the vessel, “You may need something where you’re going.”

A club. Ghost takes it, even though it didn’t feel like an upgrade compared to their trusted nail but they have no choice did they?

Slowly they approach the snail, embracing that gross slippery skin. How fast they sank into it, the gooey soft blackness surrounding them and embracing them. It almost feels as though the snail would suffocate them. Yet, like between two magic fingers, they get pushed out into clean air.

...the air is clean, anyway. Ghost however, is wet and covered in snail slime. They hear Grimmchild celebrate, “Look! Our silent lanky friend made it!”

But where? They prop themselves up on the the club to see. The first thing they notice is everything has a red pitch to it, like the dye of a berry has dripped over their eyes. It was a tunnel, made of the smoothest dark-brown rock. Like a metal, almost. It might have been pitch black were it not for the red flames keeping it alight in here. Further down they could see tables...just...tables and chairs among the cavernous walls.

Grimmchild embraces him, “Good fortune is on my side if you’re alive!”

The smaller bug awkwardly joins in, yet not hugging, “And me too?”  
  
“Why yes, you’ve proven someone I don’t want to kill, so rejoice my musician stranger,” Grimmchild adds unhelpfully. He marvels at these caves, “Ah….now this...feels more like home.”

“It feels...familiar...” Nymm remarks, feeling an itch in his mind. Yet pulling strings at his memory soon got lost to seeing something must stranger in the cave walls. He tugs at the cloaks of both Ghost and Grimmchild, “The walls...”

They saw it. Faces. Impressions of bugs frozen in stone, writhing yet not moving. Perfect sculpture like the artist captured the impression of bugs at their demise perfectly. Ghost gripped their club. It seems the right amount of odd for the locales they happen upon.

Grimmchild casually remarks, “What remarkable decorator, I must say.”

The vessel leads the trio onwards, until they meet a kiosk. Not an impassible landmark, save the bug behind it. The bug in charge of the kiosk is not just tall but long. Their limbs stretch out and around the kiosk like spindly little branches. Their whole body resembles a branch as a matter of fact. More disturbing, their “face” rests on their back—a fact they’re only sure because of the white mask with black lines resting their. The insect’s body eerily rotates until this mask meets them.

Their voice, a halting drone that sounds like a mouthful of marbles speaks, “Wel...come. To...the Nightmare...Cab...aret. Do you...have...a reserv...ation?”

Nymm asks, “A reservation?”  
  
“We’re here, isn’t that reservation enough?” Grimmchild adds.

For someone who takes their time with words this insect goes through a flurry of a documents eerily fast.

“The Vessel...the Grimm...child...Nymm...” everyone save Ghost feels a creeping feeling that this strange receptionist bug knows their name, “...you….do not...have...a reserv...ation. Come back...when you………...do.”

“Can’t you just merely squeeze us in? I’m a part of the Nightmare Troupe! Surely that means something!” Grimmchild begs.

A strange wince of recognition hits Nymm at those words: Nightmare Troupe. They can’t leave. It would dash away all the answers they had. Swallowing his nervousness, Nymm pitches in, “We’re not leaving.”

“Hmmm….” the stick bug stares, as though long in thought, “…..I understand.” Their torso cycles once more. In a sickening crack, several limbs stretch out and grow far quicker than any reflex can catch. By the end, the entire tunnel appears like a tangled mess of branches. But everyone knows better. The branches belong to the receptionist bug, their two arms in fact.

Ghost isn’t one to hesitate. They charge, smacking the torso of the stick bug.

“Ow...” they groan, rapidly bursting two more arms to impale ghost. Grimm slips between the vessel and the receptionist, their cloak forming thorny protrusions to ward off attack.

Though it buys a second, two more arms burst through the stone from the other side, stabbing at Ghost’s body. Ghost knows this because one stabs through their face. Regardless of the damage, Ghost parries with their club, a tool they find surprisingly sturdy in holding their own.

Nymm isn’t one to stand idly by, especially as his friends keep getting stabbed by flailing branch arms. He looks to his instrument and decides if he must do something, he can do what he does best.

He plays. He fiddles a discordant tune, opposite the usual hopeful/longing/forlorn songs he plays. No this melody is meant to scratch on the chalkboard. In a minute, the receptionist painfully groans, “What...is that….” their attacking arms retract, “Stop….”

Ghost and Grimmchild take this opportunity to attack. The vessel wails on the stick bug as Grimmchild gleefully slashes at the wood-like creature.

“Agh…..agh….aaaaagh...” it cries out in monotone before Ghost delivers a final thud directly to its abdomen, making the torso drop to the ground. The tunnel now clears of its thorny twisted branch arm surroundings, retracting shriveled to the dead receptionist.

“So you’re called the Vessel...” Grimmchild mused, “I may just call you Ves...oh...your face!”

It happens that half of Ghost’s white mask ‘face’ has fallen off during the fight, leaving only a murky ink black shape to reflect the remaining mask instead. The other insect tenderly holds them by the chin, “The slug trickster was right...you’re really coming apart….unless this omen means good?”

Ghost shrugs. They don’t really know. They know one thing, they feel tired enough to lean against Grimmchild for support.

Nymm is too distracted, staring at the mask that has fallen to the ground. Like something from a dream...a nightmare…almost speaking to him, this mask. He glances quickly, to see if anyone can object to what he plans on doing. He reaches for the mask. It’s bigger than his head, yes, but if he just puts it to his face….

The mask snaps to his head in the right size. Nymm doubles other, writhing painfully as his frame catches a burning red fire. Grimmchild and Ghost break their cozying to assist the doubled over bug. By the time they do...they find he’s gotten bigger. Not just bigger, but double in size. What were just mere twig arms are now thick striped forearms. His horns are bigger, head black. Nymm raises his head, face now the same mask they saw on the receptionist.

Nymm grunts, “Ugh...did anything happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a long wait I know, but I promise to keep updating chapters till this thing gets done


	6. V: ...Is a Dream to Flies

Ghost takes in the picture of this whole sordid affair. Nymm is Brumm. Brumm is Nymm. The magic or whatever powered the Nightmare Heart of Grimm’s circus also has given Nymm his….Brummness. Muscles and all. They remember Brumm, how they rarely exchanged words, but Ghost had a sense of Brumm’s sadness for the whole circus situation. They didn’t realize behind this sadness laid a lost sort of bee drone-love like devotion.  
  


The half-void, half-masked vessel gazes to the now bigger bug, who now takes stock of his new body with a mix of confusion and admiration. Brumm marvels, “This place….these masks….do you think these masks are part of my past?”  
  
Grimmchild finds this whole thing hilarious, “Oh it’s a lovely change! Now my friend’s friend can carry us both!”  
  
Acting bashful, Brumm relents, “Why...I’m sure I could try...”

The whole affair is making Ghost befuddled with this Brumm dimension. Is Brumm-Nymm just acting out an unconscious Grimm-longing he never got over out on Grimm’s own spawn? Does Grimmchild being some splintering of Grimm’s lifespan and not straightforward spawn somehow make this less or more weird?

Would telling Brumm the truth of his past make the bug unhappy? Does this new dimension of Brumm-Nymm’s relationship to both Grimmchild and Grimm make Ghost and Grimmchild’s own relationship strained? Why did Ghost have to overthink all of this?

No. They won’t lie and they won’t reveal either. They won’t get involved. The truth will come out on its own. That’s how these journeys work.

“Are you alright, Ves? You hadn’t said anything for some time.” Brumm says.

The black toothy bug chides, “They never said a word ever! That’s how they always are!”

True, but Ghost knew what Brumm meant. They had only stood like a frozen glass sculpture for a long time. Rather than give anything complicated, the vessel marched ahead further down the smoldering glow of the tunneling establishment. Forward and downward.

This cavern has plenty of area for tables and rocky protrusions obviously sanded down for seating. The whole arrangement looks asymmetrical at a glance, like cut logs floating down a river of sludge. But with no one here, it appears manageable to navigate between the hard wooden edge. Ghost leads the way, Grimmchild hanging over their shoulder, excitable and eager to touch the vessel. The insect takes no seriousness in their venture, taking it instead as a game. Brumm-Nymm follows at a respectable distance, but they feel his presence all the same. Ghost has the vaguest pangs of guilt just being in the vicinity of Grimmchild.  
  
The journey downward seems to reflect their mental state: more tables seem to get jammed together with the tunnel getting increasingly twisted. More and more they have to scale some tables already stacked on each other. Ghost wonders if this is a result of being in this place or more a result of their cracked mask but oh how they hate this awkward feeling. They could easily turn back, couldn’t they...yet they have a strange urge to continue onward.

“This is starting to get boring isn’t it?” Grimmchild says, as though trying to voice their thought, “This can’t be all there is to this place!”  
  
“If you wish,” the musician bug added, “I could perform some music.”

Yes! Music! Ghost affirms with a nod. Music would be welcome!  
  
Grimmchild adds, “Please entertain us, I’m sure your new body will add a new dimension to your music don’t you think?”

As though spurred on by Grimmchild’s banter, the bug fumbles with his instrument. Ghost’s eyelids lower. But the music Brumm-Nymm comes out is oddly high-paced yet rough in its cadence. Fitting for the occasion. Ghost sees it somehow gives the other two in the party inspiration to continue their hike the increasingly steep piles of tables.

When the trio climbs over a jumbled and unstable pile they finally see at the end of one tunnel a door. A square door, perfect for Grimmchild’s, Ghost’s, and Brumm-Nymm’s sizes. Ghost squeezes their eyes shut. One problem for another.

As they think this, Brumm’s music goes silent. They turn to the musician. Softly, but with fear he tells the vessel, “The walls...”

All this time, they have intentionally ignored the disturbingly realistic décor. And now they see it’s realistic for a reason: every single face, every agonized expression frozen into the wall now has one single eye open. That single eye doesn’t match their expression, either. For in those eyes lies a bound expression of wrath, disgust, and hatred.

Ghost isn’t going to waste time to see what other things these statues can do. They want to get to that door. The three immediately run to their exit, realizing how much further it is than appearances originally tell their eyes. As they do, sickening cracks make clouds of dust crumble from the walls as appendages reach towards the unwelcome guests. Brumm-Nymm try avoiding them by crawling to the floor. Ghost, annoyed, swats at the trapped souls trying to pull at them. This gets harder as multiple limbs make for their arms.

Grimmchild sees this and does something neither Ghost nor Brumm-Nymm expected. From their mouth a stream of ember flames burst forth to engulf the way forward. From the tunnel ensues a massive shriek surrounding them at all sides. Trying to take the noise at bay, they crawl quickly to the door, scrambling to pry the door open.

“We should go one at a time,” Brumm politely suggests before glancing over his shoulder, “--and hurry. ...but go first.”

They felt the slap and clawing of several appendages against them as they make a mad crawl through the tight space between the tunnel and whatever lay after that.

As the three sprawl out, slamming the door shut, Ghost rises to take in stock where they are now. Grimmchild remarks, “This doesn’t make much sense. Whoever built this must have built this while they were planning it. All these curtains?”  
  
Curtains indeed. Before them stretches a red-tiled hallway so long the end is beyond their range of vision. Curtains surrounds that hallway, also dyed crimson in color. Red within crimson within rogue. A nightmarish bleedout.

Grimmchild appears from underneath a curtain, a sly little grin making his eyes into slits, “Well nothing life-threatening here.” He skitters to another curtain across the floor, “Or here.” He rises, “Let us sleep here for a short time, regain our energy. That is the best course of action, yes?”

Rest? The vessel looks perplexed. But what about benches?  
  
“It will be alright,” assures the fiery bug, “But it’s up to the leader.” he gestures to Ghost in a dramatic bow.

“Personally...” Brumm-Nymm says, adjusting himself, “I could use a good rest. I feel exhausted.”

Ghost blinks between the two of them before shrugging their shoulders and giving approval. Camp for awhile...if camping indoors counts.

“Excellent. We should stay in separate but close sections, it will make it harder for any unannounced guests to surprise all of us.”

Brumm-Nymm agrees with Grimmchild, “Wise choice. In that case, I believe we should sleep in turns and keep watch. I will take the first watch and alert the both of you when my shift is over.”  
  
“Au revoir,” says Grimmchild with a fluttery wave as he skitters off to a nearby curtain.

Ghost wanders to the second closest curtain revealing….oddly enough a bench. And more curtains, nothing more. Small miracles. The vessel lies flat, legs dangling over the bench legs. So odd, how its purple-ish wood is carved to appear like the swirls and whorls of a raging flame…the back bearing a crest of a mask very much like the Grimmkin.

As they observe this, they feel a jolt run through them when Grimmchild climbs atop them. “Ves, it’s been so long since we last had a moment’s time alone, don’t you agree?”

This could be a terrible moment to seize such an opportunity, thinks Ghost. The vessel awkwardly shrugs, but Grimmchild gets comfy, their arms now intertwining around their back. Grimmchild continues, “To think I felt so lost...I wondered where you had gone...but when we met again, it felt like only yesterday since we were last together joining battle.”

Ghost gives a soft pap to his cheeks. This only makes Grimmchild cackle, “You’re so aloof, Ves. But I know you more than you think.” He’s really close as his fingers work into the black yet cold carapace of the vessel, “You think yourself immune to emotions, but you’re like kindling. When a spark hits you, emotions can’t help run through you...”

Something takes Ghost offguard completely. It isn’t a surprise attack or a swindle or a horrifying revelation: it’s a gently spark of flame from Grimmchild’s mouth, hitting their void black face. It should do damage or hurt but instead it...tingles. It feels good.

Grimmchild hums, nestling body-to-body on the bench, “You liked that didn’t you? Could tell by how your fingers trembled. If you desire more all you need to do is tell me in your way...”

What is the vessel doing? What happened to being a neutral arbiter in this silly tete-a-tete between the three bugs? Why didn’t they push Grimmchild off? Why instead did their fingers gently twist around the peaks of his horns, stroking to the scalp of Grimmchild as the fiery bug purrs, leaning forward to their face to unleash a bigger puff of flame to that void part of their face.

Ghost takes one hand to their back, holding them together as they exchange warm, tinging fire and face strokes. What has the void given form become?

“Oh er….” a familiar deep voice intrudes. It’s Brumm-Nymm. Looking like a poor beetle being hit by a stag. Ghost feels like they’re about to fall through the floor into never-ending nothingness.

“Oh you!” Greets Grimmchild in an unhelpful cheery tone, “Is it time to switch shifts already?”

“Yes.” replies Brumm, extra unhelpful.

Ghost does something they probably should have in the first place: leave the two of them alone.

"I guess it's Ves' turn," Grimmchild says to Brumm-Nymm.

Brumm-Nymm shares Ghost's previous feeling of wanting to float through the floor into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters may be sparse coming out, but I'll keep coming out with em. Stay safe in these trying times y'all.
> 
> Also this chapter may be a little spicy at the end
> 
> Also the song Brumm-Nymm plays this chapter is "Underground" by Tom Waits


	7. VI: A Haunting Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch out this chapter has some body horror, but enjoy!

Brumm didn’t want to be stuck like this, trapped in this curtained off room with Grimmchild. He could go anywhere, continue down these infinite hallways. But the truth of it he is trapped. The ways of his own confused and knotted longing had him tied down, trapped in this awkward silence as he draws out long broken notes that couldn’t even be counted as music anymore.   
  


Grimmchild sits just as quiet, not sparing a word since Brumm has broken up their mutual touching session. They both have been like this for far too long. Only now after the music of Brumm-Nymm gets screechy does Grimmchild pipe in, “You haven’t said anything for so long and your music isn’t getting any better. Not to mention Ves’ watch shift has gone far longer than it should have. One of us has to take over for Ve--”

“I don’t...” Brumm-Nymm asserts to his surprise, “I don’t feel like mentioning our friend. Or saying anything really.”

Grimmchild flicks his fingers in a huff, “Come now, you’ve been so stranger and you keep getting stranger ever since we came here. You must be angry with me but I don’t know what I did wrong. I hardly feel it’s fair to be held in contempt when you won’t tell me why you’re angry.”

The musician bug ceases his music, peering over his instrument, “No. I suppose it isn’t.” He lets his head rest miserably to the side on one appendage, “I suppose….it’s less you and more this place. I feel more trapped the more time I spend in this...place.”

“A start, yes, but I’m still confused,” prods Grimmchild unhelpfully.

His insides knot up again, “I suppose...” everything coming out is discordant, not musical at all, “I see the both of you and you have found your place...yet I’m still lost as to who I am. I’m no closer to remembering or knowing. As though I’m living in a nightmare that continues.”

The devilish bug looks at him for a minute second before laughter broke in patters like embers hitting the floor, “I see now.” He gently pats Brumm, a gesture towards which the bug closes his eyes, “It may be difficult, but you’ll find company! Especially with that new physique and musical talents!”

Brumm-Nymm closes his eyes tighter, “When you put it in those terms...it doesn’t seem so impossible.”

Talking to Grimmchild makes this bug feel worse...yet better.

Ghost doesn’t know how far this hallway went or how far they had strayed from the other two, but they just needed to get away. How can they, one who once was a trickle, now stand beneath a waterfall of feelings? How can they deal with the intertwining pins of other’s feelings while stand against their own?

  
They would like to say that exchange with Grimmchild has not sparked anything inside them. They wish they could say the tingle of hands and faces with cold and flame has only left the same average blank feeling. How easier it would be to lie to themselves like that, they could shrug off the odd emotional dance between Grimmchild and Brumm, only if because they can say they had no enjoyment of it.

Ghost touches their own face, the eerie mix of void like either and solid. Has getting involved again started to ruin them? Or is this just the trajectory of their existence? Answers, like the foundations in the deepest parts of Hallownest remain elusive.

Now a new feeling has grown inside them: homesickness. What home? Doesn’t matter, only the aching want to leave this oppressive nightmare world and its drab curtains, flee someplace where danger can no longer knock at their proverbial door.

As they continue to push their physical self forward, their eyes run right into a long drooping worm-like form merely draped across the floor. They follow the trail of the tail, seeing it become greater in width as its main body rests on a gigantic sofa, flames spewing from beneath its legs. How did they miss that?

More importantly...they know this worm creature. They recognize the flourished half-mask with a lavish made up uncovered half. She grins, as though she knows they know as well.

“Aaaaaaaah. Little traveler. You came looking for something? You did and you found me!” her claws coyly rise to her face.

They only feel a creeping sense of exhaustion, as they they find themselves in another predicament.

But Divine continues. “You came here so alone! Just like us!”

They have no interest in continuing this cryptic conversation. Ghost plods onward, a massive wall of worm tail blocking off any path onward. Their eyes squint with frustration. She leans down, a claw touching their face, “Aaaaaaaaaaaah. Such a pretty face beneath the ghostly veneer. What’s under you wonder? Why are you here?”

Ghost wonders...why are they here? The claw taps at their face again, insistent.

Divine lulls with her voice, “Perhaps I can help you find that reason underneath! Just like when you sold me those charms! All it requires is an exchange!”

The vessel tilts their head. Obviously something bad but...eventually they roll their head back to relent.

“That’s it. Aaaaaaaaaaaah! Let Divine do her work!” she titters with mirth.

Flames lick down the hallway in a mighty blaze. Brumm-Nymm and Grimmchild race as close as they can to it, concerned for their missing Ghost. Both are mesmerized by the raging flame, lighting nothing yet traveling across the tile floor and only the tile floor with ease.   
  
Both silent before the flame, Grimmchild eventually shrugs, “Ah well.” And he sticks his hand in the flame. “Warm...but not too bad.”

“Are you sure?” Brumm-Nymm asks, nervous at watching one of his friends shove a whole hand in the fire. Right as he says that Brumm’s appendage gets nudged right into the flame, “WAIT—oh...it is fine. Strange. More like warm water. “

“I know!” the Grimmchild beams, “Let us find out friend Ves now.”

“Agreed.” despite their friction, Brumm had no intention on losing Ghost.

Together they wade through the flames, heavy in a quality only like a cumbersome mist rather than fire. Yet when they reach the first signs of life, relief gives both of them the cold shoulder with their vision. Before them sits a worm creature in half a mask, dwarfing both Grimmchild, Brumm, and Ghost in size as she dangles Ghost in one hand.

At first it appears as though she were kissing, but no. From the sloppy wet smacks preceding each crack and crunch it is obvious the worm-like insect is eating him. Or rather, taking pieces of their mask and eating it one at a time.

“VES!” hollers Grimmchild, violently lashing in Divine’s direction when the Troupe member snaps her fingers. Filing at her command comes a brigade of Grimmkin, specters bearing a mask very similar to Brumm’s. The creatures giggles, swaying batons as they slammed the tools of entertainment against the two without mercy. Grimmchild and Brumm have no qualms using physical force to cut into the growing number of Troupe enthusiasts. They do so in a flourish of slashing claws from Grimm and fierce headbutts and fists from Brumm-Nymm.   
  
However, numbers becomes their downfall as the Grimmkin can merely come back again and swarm the two. Grimmchild and Brumm are nearly ready to lay down their last leg for even a chance to grab Ghost’s hand, yet Divine’s unceremonious drop of Ghost is what grabs their attention. The vessel is nothing but a head of midnight blackness and two blinding lights of eyes, the shadowy form struggling to maintain the shape the mask held.

“Ves...” whispers Grimmchild, both him and Brumm trying to reach for Ghost as the Grimmkin hold them back.

“Brumm. The Grimmchild. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…..” she delicately pops each finger from her mouth the savor the flavor of void, “How strange this wayward vessel follows your suit and yet...lucky lucky lucky.”

“Brumm?” asks Brumm-Nymm, “Are you saying I’m...but what is this? Who are you?”

“Ha! I don’t answer questions. I’m only here to escort you. And to commiserate on time lost...it is good to see a lost friend, Brumm. Our Troupe Leader has waited for you. Or rather called you.”

“Brumm…?” Grimmchild squints his eyesat Brumm, “All this time I thought you didn’t have a name.”  
  
“You’re awaited too, lost child,” says Divine, snapping her fingers as the Grimmkin push them forward, “Aaaaaaaaaah! Reunions! I love them. Make me so hungry.”

Together the trio find themselves marched downwards into the darkness of curtains, curtains that obscure the rest of the hallway. What lies behind the rest of them? Ghost might have been afraid to find out, if only they didn’t feel so worn out and sick.


	8. VII: Somewhere Across the Sea of Time

Together the trio find themselves marched downwards into the darkness of curtains, curtains that obscure the rest of the hallway. What lies behind the rest of them? Ghost might have been afraid to find out, if only they didn’t feel so worn out and sick.

Escort, as it appears, only means ‘get escorted to an elaborated platform surrounded by a wire cage hitched to an elaborate pulley mechanism of silk rope’. The Grimmkin don’t lead Ghost so much as nearly carry them alongside Divine as Grimmchild and Brumm follow only to get locked inside the cage.

“You said remember me.” Brumm-Nymm says to the much bigger worm insect, to offset the blood-freezing feeling of standing on an unsteady platform that hung over a murky red wine darkness.

“Yesss didn’t I! And you don’t! A mistake lead you to that, I’m sure I’m definitely sure!”

With the cuthroat deftness of her prose she slices a pincer outwards to cut the rope and send it plummeting into the darkness. Brumm’s entire stomach and heart feels as though they decided to crowd right inside his noggin. He can feel himself falling inside this tiny cage and it takes wrapping his arms around these bars to keep himself from slamming into the cage ceiling as they fall.

His friends, lack the same concern he has. Grimmchild looks sullen, more worried about Ghost. Ghost themselves seems to blend into the darkness. From what he can tell Divine seems to to giggling to herself, a private joke known only to her.

Brumm, aside from the terror, now feels he’s less in company of regular insects like he has thought. But maybe this entire time he has lied to himself, lied about being ordinary to escape the hell he somehow has secreted away from his waking memory. If this is where he comes from, if Divine and Grimmchild are the company he has once kept, what kind of insect is he?

The plunge hits hard on the floor, metal grinding and sending big clumps of dirt and dust flying around them. Brumm is sure he is dead. He laments, “Oh this is where I truly die.”

“You wouldn’t even know, one called Brumm,” replies Grimmchild, now feeling free enough to cradle Ghost who remained woozy on their knees.

The comfort wouldn’t last long as Divine pulls at them with her pincers, “Not enough time for that, Tiny Grimm. More important matters at hand!”

As Divine forcible takes them in tow, Ghost hanging in Grimmchild’s arms, the crimson dark remains strong but a flash of scarlet lightning now and then give them a clear view of what lies before them: a dump. Wreckage of tent after tent lie atop each other in a zig zag tumble of sharp debris, tattered fabric waving lazily in the air as the collected splintered broken columns groan beneath the collected weight.

Grimmchild gives an awed mouth gape before tilting his chin to the tip of an elbow-propped hand, “Remarkable.”

“I’d like to go back to the snail,” Brumm-Nymm says mostly to himself.

“It truly is remarkable,” says Divine, “Yes this is the last bits of what you may call the opposite of the Dream.”

If Ghost could speak or cared to speak, they could easily give that answer. The two of the trio look listlessly about the ground.

“Nightmare!” she shoves her masked face to the both of them, “The Nightmare!”

“UH!” Brumm says as an automatic response before his actual thought kicks in, “Has….has it always been like this?”  
  


She slithers around, slinking forwards, “No. As the sky falls, the ground rushes up to meet it. The Nightmare did when the Dream died.”

“This is an elegant speech,” Grimmchild adds with no sense of irony, “But you should be clearer with your intentions.”

She yanks Ghost, forcing Grimmchild to tug at her. He hisses, but she has her eyes set on Ghost.

“The heart needs a belly! Needs someone with the hunger! I have that hunger! I can eat the minds of all insects!” She leans in to lick the shadowy wispy horn of Ghost, “I just need to eat this morsel first….”

She opens her jaw, ready to bite and ingest when Brumm does the unthinkable...he slaps the beast across the face with his musical instrument. Shocked at his actions, he timidly covers his face, “I am so sorry...I didn’t mean to do that.”

But the shock of that distracts the worm-troupe enough to stumble backwards and away from Ghost. Grimmchild wraps the now extremely fed up Ghost in his cloak as Brumm-Nymm stands between them.

“We were friends, weren’t we? Then...you’ll respect me by leaving my friends alone.” the musician bug put his metaphorical foot down.

She tilts her head back, a haughty appraisal of disdain, “Pleading with me is a last resort of food, Brumm. Not the Troupe. I have no qualms treating you like food...” she peels off her mask, “BECAUSE I’M STARVING.”

A flame bursts from the hidden half of her face, a contained angry flame hiding the rest of her face again. She grabs a beam, chomping it down with horrendous speed before the end of her tail fires a series of bullet-like embers their way. Grimmchild’s unnatural cloak forms spikes to absorb the damage as Brumm-Nymm panics to think of a means to calm her down.

“Yes...but...” he immediately steps in the path of her mask. The act of merely picking it up sends of a frenzy of embers to fire his way. He raises his instrument to take the brunt of it but the flames quickly hit his arms several times before he reaches safety behind Grimmchild.

Grimmchild takes notice of the mask, “Is that her mask?”  
  
“I thought maybe if we put it back on her we could...”

“Excellent plan, my musician friend!” he snatches the mask and immediately...burns it to dust.

Divine’s furious attack stops as she furiously claws the ground, hissing her curses as a red energy collects around her, ultimately exploding in a fury of dust, indistinguishable from the rest of the dust.

“….I didn’t think you would do that,” chastises Brumm-Nymm, rubbing painfully at his smoldering dents in his arms.

“I know and I couldn’t have done it without your aid—please sit down, you must be exhausted,” the only standing bug brings his friend into the folds of his cloak to sit at his feet.

Brumm lays back, grieving more his instrument than the pain in his arms.

But other matters lie in wait for them. For one thing, the sound of that heartbeat they heard so faintly for awhile now grows more distinct. Even the crack of the blood-lightning matches its beat. When the ‘lub-dub’ gets loud enough, they feel the ground go soft, as though it has started melting.

Before either of them can make a move for it, the ground and all the contents of the wreckage melt like a amorphous stew, sweeping them away. Grimmchild desperately try to hold on to Brumm and Ghost but the both of them separate at different currents. Where is this stream taking them?

At first the path of this ferocious river looks like it ends in a near-endlessly huge puce building with vast vaults and echoing chasms but with each approach they feel the heartbeat shaking their bodies.

Then they see the building move with the noise. Contract-expand. Lub-dub-lub-dub.

It’s a heart. A heart with no body.

Ghost and Brumm get carried into the openings of the organ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, any lingering threads and mysteries will be revealed in due time. I'm not gonna film student/LOST you.


	9. VIII: A Love Immortal Just Like Mine

The two float helplessly deeper and deeper into the ventricles of the heart, a cathedral of life reverberating with the harsh energy of a life dragging itself to carry on and on and on. Deeper inside the heart and it looks less like a heart and more like the pointy growth Ghost remembers when they first saw it, when they first tried to do the impossible….

That is the cause of all this, thinks Ghost. Their failure. What they did instead. They half-understand now. This world that cries for and pulls at Ghost, Brumm, and Grimmchild, it’s an undeath that stretches on and on.

Now weak and weaponless, they drift helplessly to the inevitable, the final point where Ghost dreads with each increasing moment.

The liquid moves not like a river now, but a vast lake going down a drain. Together Brumm and Ghost spin, the shadowy Vessel holding onto Brumm-Nymm as they finally reach the floor of this towering organ, looming like a massive cathedral of shame. Sopping wet, together the two of them make a soft impact to the floor with a squishing noise.

But now the red miasma that covers their eyes from the moment they entered, it feels stronger, mandalas of red light rising in the air almost as though lifted by an unheard and profane choir. Brumm carries Ghost, softly gently. With the way the musician lugs the vessel as the weight of the liquid drips from both them, they know now he never has borne no ill will. How does a gentle soul like Brumm-Nymm feel the inevitable draw of what Ghost refuses to acknowledge in the first place?  
  
More strange, they feel a strange emotional pain when a wish comes to them. They wish rather than Brumm, that Grimmchild is here holding them close. This pain...is it guilt? Guilt to want? Even when exhausted, malformed, and drained, Ghost can only think of the irrelevant. They seems to be their weakness.

But there’s no distraction from what lays before them. The center of it all lies what Ghost has long ignored. Now in plain sight...what a sight.

“The Grimmchild? Are you…?” but Brumm is wrong. His pigment is red, a pigment that matches this world. Why wouldn’t it, this world sprawls from him like blood from capillaries. Only there is a large difference. The cloak, now red, of this Grimm appears fused with the organ-like building, showing how this world is truly a part of him. He seems to have enjoyed a long rest as he pulls his head from the ground, now looming over the two of them. The points of the back his head are much pointier than Grimmchild’s, but Ghost knows who looms over them now. It would be hard to forget the Nightmare King after all.

“Heart of flame...” he murmurs, beckoning to the two, “Come...the Heart...”

Brumm barely can though. He’s seen a true ghost from his mind. His eyes waver with watery disbelief as Ghost hangs off him for balance, “You...I’ve seen you in my dreams...why can't I remember entirely?”

Ghost tugs at his shoulder. At this motion the musician acknowledges briefly, “Oh! Yes, the Divine! What became of her?”

There comes a derisive long hiss, almost mistaken for a weakened noise, but they realize for what it really is: laughter. “No Divine here...”

“What?” Brumm can feel his body growing chill, not just from the oddness of these circumstances, but from the proximity of his dream man.

“Some things I cannot control…..but what I can control...were helpful for my purposes,” he grins sardonically.

Brumm gently sets Ghost down, know kneeling prostrate before Grimm, “Please, my purpose has been locked away to someplace I could not reach...but seeing you, it feels so familiar it brings a long sad melody from inside of me. I need to know who am I...”

With a surprising amount of tenderness, his hand cups the side of Brumm’s face, “Where would I be without my trusted song? My beloved musician, you were always the most important part of my show. When the shadow cast me out, I could feel the flame lock itself away...the Troupe unraveled and so I was alone in this realm with only the Heart….remember, Brumm...remember...”

Slowly he brings his toothy muzzle to kiss the musician’s mask. The kiss burns like bittersweet nostalgia, the nostalgia slowly worms its way to the surface of Brumm’s memories. And he remembers now, he remembers the dreams he’s had, the dreams of his past life that made tears for so long. And with such a sudden weight to his emotions, he can’t stop himself from doubling over, “Master….I…..I promised I would free you...but I failed….”

“The failure is not yours,” Grimm says as he motions to Ghost, laying on their side and unwillingly watching this kissing, “It is our friend’s...”

Ghost wants to protest but it’s true, isnt it? Still, from the look in Ghost’s face, they want to know why they’re here or how this is all possible….

Like a trick of mind reading, Grim continues, “The Heart had only the strength to continue a dance within your own dreams. When our friend returned from the abyss, how fortunate a mistake! Enough flame laid within their charm to bring a remnant of my spawn.”  
  
“Your...spawn?” Brumm feels an extreme swirl of confusion and embarrassment.

Grimm nods, comforting the musician with strokes along the bug’s broad back “I knew my likeness would be the pull to lead the one who could easily travel the Dream realm and pull you to me. Your devotion has always been that strong.”  
  
“I see now….” the musician sighs, “It would have been easier if your dreams told me everything than this mystery….and now that we’re here, we can truly free you from this place, yes?”  
  
“My dear Brumm,” sighs Grimm, “Dreams are never so simple. The vessel has another purpose in this performance.”  
  
Ghost dreads whatever the Nightmare King has in store.

“The vessel created an absence in the Dream, something felt deep within the Nightmare realm. You know of what I speak, don’t you my friend?” Grimm gestures to Ghost.

They know. The Radiance, a god who used dreams to ensnare insects within a madness that left them a violent mindless husk. What Grimm is implying…

“The Heart is alone, feeding off me and me alone. But with the emptiness in the Dream...and the vessel…we can ascend and become King of not Nightmares but of Dreams! The flame can live on in the world of insects once more!” Grimm rises, a grand stretching gesture before he sinks to the floor.

Brumm rises, looking to Ghost, “Is that why they’re here? But...it sounds as though…we would only trade servitude for another form of it.”

Grimm takes a hold of Brumm’s hands, “The Dream is a place long denied to the flame. But thanks to the child of void, none can deny our right to it!” He strokes over one of Brumm’s ‘ears, “There I can become the Troupe Master you see in me, no?”

The musician looks between Ghost and Grimm, his words slowly hesitating, “...and all you need is them?”

“That is all I require, my beloved.” Grimm cups his face once again.

Ghost really believes for a second Brumm will make the right choice. But even before Brumm says the words, their dread consumes them in a whirlpool of helplessness. Brumm nods, “Then it shall be done, my Master.”

The vessel has enough strength to try and drag themselves away, but at this speed Brumm easily overtakes them, hoisting them in his strong arms. The void being wriggles helplessly, wishing desperately for a nail or even the club the snail gave them, what became of it?

Now the being of pure void-blackness finds themselves in the shaky grip of Grimm, but somehow they have enough strength to keep them. The heartbeat is so loud now, as though excited.

“How fortunate of you to return, my friend,” Grimm says, “Forgive me, but we can see this as merely finishing the work you set out to do, yes?”

With those words, fire spread from their hands, quickly reaching from his clawtips and consuming the entirety of Ghost in an all-consuming flame. Ghost has thought they knew fire. But this, this is fire. Fire somehow hot and cold, reaching into their being.

After everything, after cheating destruction at the hands of the Radiance, is this what they are truly meant for? To be consumed, to die for another cause just once again? Perhaps that is what they always have been. Just a vessel.


	10. IX: They'll Answer Me, Wherever They May Be

They wake against wood slats, the familiar horizontal straightness they remember from some time ago. More familiar is the jolt, the startling shudder to waking up from some dreamless sleep. Maybe this whole affair has been some nightmare, a dream they can parcel as extremely vivid.

Oh if they could only do that, if they didn’t miss their surroundings. This is a bench, yes. A bench that lays at a crooked angle among a meeting place between two dunes. More specifically, the bench is the only real lasting memento artifice and comfort for stretches. This is the bench from the curtained area before, how can they forget the heat…?  
  
Well.

How can they forget that place? Now it sits sticking out like a worn out trinket that just can’t be tossed away. All around the landscape is amorphous, primordial. Everything suggests this featureless collection of silt could continue forever, if it isn’t for the glowing red light in the distance.

With that cue, Ghost trundles off the bench and continues forward. That’s what they do, isn’t it? Even if they’re just purposeless again. After all, Brumm made his decision with Grimm and Grimmchild...they didn’t know. Just like way back in the start, they are on their own again.

But what a new feeling this is, alone. Ghost hasn’t considered it until this present endlessness. They always have been alone, because everyone usually has left them. Now...there is a different sting in someone intentionally abandoning you, not out of self-sacrifice or fate or the better good, but because their own wants are stronger. Ghost couldn’t know. They never had that, a feeling so strong it makes them abandon their present course of action. Maybe that’s what makes beings like Grimm and Brumm more surprising, the strength of their passions.

Ghost stands at the peak of a dune, taller than their shadowy figure. For once...they fall over and give up, rolling in the muck and silt. They’re practically nothing anyway without their mask, a shadowy void just hanging on only because of someone else’s intentions. So why not just roll in the dirt? Why not?

They do a good job mindlessly rolling downwards, gaining traction when soon their journey makes an immediate stop. They didn’t expect that. Something else must be sticking out. Oh well, a good occasion to lay in the dirt.

Yet a second after covering themselves with soil, something uncovers them and calls back, “What are you doing in that filth, Ves?”

Before they can give a satisfying answer, Grimmchild hoists them and gently brushes the dirt off. Ghost is interested in knowing how the other bug got here as they let him know with their hands.

Grimmchild pulls his cloak-like wings around himself, “Oh yes well you did see that current didn’t you?”

Ghost stares unblinkingly.

He sighs, “Yes that’s unconvincing, isn’t it?” He pats the dune next to Ghost as a seat, “I didn’t want to be there, that’s all. I thought if I found the exit, I could come find you two and we could leave and let all this business be done!”

Ghost’s void eyes blink within the starless darkness of their body. What do they mean by that.

Grimmchild takes a long gander at the sky, its stormy red clouds with their angry splinters of red light crackling every other second, “I know.”

The vessel should press on, but they feel they know where this line of talking leads.

“I knew about Brumm and my father...or my old me...however it works. I knew who they were when we met.” he chuckles, seeing an inkling of the shock hitting Ghost’s system, “I was a charm yes, but how could I forget? I’m surprised you didn’t find me suspicious at all.”

Ghost waits for an explanation, the whole confession has already taken the out-of-orbit Ghost and thrown them into a comet.

Grimmchild continues, “It was...awkward! Brumm was so doting on me and he didn’t even know why. I thought this whole time I became the new Grimm, that you did what you were supposed to do!” he refers to Ghost’s killing of the Nightmare King yes, Ghost is well aware of that failure, “I thought I was the only one! How does one explain to someone that the person they loved is a new person and not into them anymore?” He throws his hands up, “I simply couldn’t do it! I thought with this whole journey we would find nothing and he would...” he adds with the teensiest insensitivity, “Get over it.”

The vessel sits next to Grimmchild, fixing the other bug a look. Obviously that didn’t work.

He smiles bitterly, “I didn’t think this Grimm was alive. I thought the whole thing was an intricate illusion. But then we got close to that heart…....” he looks down, driven by an external sense of guilt, “II knew he was alive. I didn’t want to deal with him, deal with the me who’s still there…so here I am, waiting for anything. And here you are.”  
  
Ghost stares at the horizon, carefully measuring some kind of distance. Just as slowly they rest their shadowy head on Grimmchild’s shoulder. Here they are. 

Grimmchild brings his cloak over the vessel’s body, comforting them, “There is no way out of here, is there? We’re here until our use to Grimm is finished.”

That isn’t a comforting thought. But Ghost has given up. They’re fine here, resting on Grimmchild’s lap. They’re sure Grimmchild feels the same. If it’s the end, it’s in familiar company.

“I’m not the most exceptional character,” he says, as though responding to the vessel’s inner thoughts, “But I’ve been by your side all this time. I can wait with you as Grimm decides our fate.”

That is a comforting thought. The vessel rises to lend a soft touch of the head against Grimmchild’s. He lets out a soft gasp, “Ah. So do you feel that way too?”

Feel. All this time, Ghost never could be sure if they ever have felt anything deeply. 

Did they want to keep spending time with their companion?

Yes.

Did they want to protect them and like it when he protected them in turn?

Yes.

Did they like this physical proximity?

Also yes.

Then maybe...they nod. This could be how they feel.

Grimmchild grins, running his wispy fingers along the line of their void chin, “If I had to struggle all this way to know that, then this journey wasn’t a waste.”

Ghost rests their head against his shoulder. It may be doomed, yes. But Ghost isn’t abandoned, are they?

Several moments of silence pass before Grimmchild breathes audibly, “Maybe...we shouldn’t just wait here. If we’re going to be crushed….we should try and bring my father or my past self out of this madness.”

The vessel watches attentively as Grimmchild’s determination rises in place of their lost determination.

“Maybe...” he draws out his thoughts again, “There is a chance we can come out of this world if we end this hold the world has on him and Brumm…” he laughs, “But listen to me, I’m speaking pure fantasy. Who knows what would happen if we tried such a thing.”

No, despite his backtracking, Grimmchild makes extreme sense. It is the only way either of them have a chance of escaping this nightmare cage. Ghost, despite the exhaustion running through their body realizes what it may truly mean for another to take the place of god. Perhaps even Grimm doesn’t even know what he’s getting into. They didn’t get obliterated for one mad god to take the place of another. They rise, slowly crossing towards the glow of the heart in the horizon.

“Wait are you actually considering this?” Grimmchild calls out, “You are!”

Ghost peeks over their shoulder, not expecting anything of the being of flame. Yet then and there the dramatic insect gracefully steps to meet the vessel’s pace.

Grimmchild says to them, a gentle nuzzle gracing the cold of their face, “I said I would be by your side, do I not dear friend?”

The shadow before Grimm finally flops to the ground, defeated at the master of nightmare’s hands. Void bubbles and ultimately drift to his person, pulled by the gravity of Grimm’s will. He heaves deeply, luxuriating in the essence that the recently departed Ghost has left behind.

“My friend are they…?” Brumm asks inquisitively.

Knowing just how to soothe his musician he caresses one arm, “Not at all. So long as they remain in this realm, the child of void will survive on and on. Death comes to beings like them many times and still they can survive on. Each death leaves a trace of their life, a keepsake of the void. With it, I can give myself the life I was denied, as many times as I need to bring this realm back from its slow death.”

Yet Brumm thinks on the snail’s words...she said something to the effect of ‘an abomination of death once destroyed dies again, it has an unknown fate’, didn’t she? He draws his hand away, rubbing his two limbs together, “And what if they don’t return after too many deaths?”

Grimm muses before popping this proposal, “Then we shall find some other means. Brumm...you wanted to free me...yes?”

The big musician nods, “Yes...”

The troupe leader gently caresses the mask and face of his beloved musician, “Then you will help me, won’t you? Like you always have?”

He nods sinking into the sweet feeling he’s long missed, “Yes...” But other thoughts arise, those thoughts lingering in his dreams, “But…this won’t make you free, will it?”

“Ah...freedom...” he hangs his silence on that word, “You believe we can still be free, do you? But you know better dear Brumm…this is a duty we must preform for the flame….”

Brumm hears this but the emotions of his long-buried life well up once again, how he remembers how his master must have felt being enslaved to this beating thing encompassing the both of them. He says to Grimm, “Do you truly feel this Heart has our best intentions?”

He hisses softly, “It is better than what would await us, than for both of us to die and be forgotten. You remember that pain did you not? The agony of lingering on a memory you had lost?”

Brumm shakes his head, “But I followed not memories, but what our own hearts shared. It was strong enough to last beyond your banishment, was it not?”

Grimm withdraws into the nest of the heart, “You will understand. When the void child approaches again and repeats their doom...and here they are.” He gives a gracious bow, “And the child too. Welcome, welcome.”

There they arrive, Grimmchild and Ghost, one leaning against the other, both having enough resolution to continue.

He welcomes both politely, “Where you failed in one task, you have performed admirably in another. The child is perfect, even with the interrupted ritual. Very well, I see no reason for your continued stay, my child. I shall release you back to the realm of the non-nightmare...once I am back to my strength.”

Grimmchild stands between his previous incarnation and the vessel, “I can’t leave without Ves.”

The troupe leader sighs, “I will not fight you...but I need the vessel for the show to continue...” He motions for Brumm to collect Ghost.

Brumm however, remains frozen in his paralysis of indecision. So many conflicting thoughts orbit each other, bouncing off one another as he cannot summon a decent conclusion.

The troupe leader pinches his own face, “I can wait aeons for you to slip your guard. I can spend aeons debating you, no matter how long it takes I will take as much of your remnants as I need to raise the heart once again. A pointless fight lacks the bravado of a performance.”

Brumm, expecting exactly a fight, looks perplexed, “So what shall we do then?”

“None of use need to do anything.” Grimmchild extends a cloak towards his incarnation, “This heart has kept you enslaved for so long...I see now it’s only alive because it’s literally consuming you.”

“It is,” Brumm agrees, “Master...your child speaks what I have been trying to say.”

“Your musician agrees!” Grimmchild continues, “If you think this Heart won’t grant your freedom now, then what freedom will it give when it has the reach of something like the Radiance or any other god?”

“Choice is not what guides my hands,” Grimm coughs, “Only naked necessity. You understand your own necessities that guide you. Like the necessity of Brumm’s yearning or the vessel’s resolve, but you refuse to give it name when you try and cast off this thing that frightens you. That is truly what a nightmare is, isn’t it? The necessity which cannot be named.”

“We do have our own bonds, it’s true,” Brumm agrees, “But we can choose what binds us. As I chose to be bound to you.”

Ghost has slipped away from the debating group, using their silence to slip behind Grimm. Only once Ghost has their hands on where Grimm meets the heart does the troupe master know their presence but it is already too late.

With silent but willful ferocity, the vessel hacks at the aortic flesh, using their voidlike energy to claw at the nightmare’s power. Each claw and hack produces a thrum and throb, with bursts of red mandalas in the air. The violence ripples this effect with greater speed and strobing. Ghost hears Grimm’s ‘Stop’ once, but they remain focused on the task at hand: for Grimmchild, for Grimm, for all of them. Soon the Nightmare Heart relents its captive with a harsh scream, spewing the now freed Grimm before Brumm.

“Master...” Brumm scoops the troupe master in his arms, now weak and wet from being trapped and part of this organ for so long.

Grimm strokes his face once again, “But...the Heart...it shall...”

To his word, the ground gets uneven beneath their feet, shaking ferociously. Being refused its donor, the Heart begins to rebel at its very foundations, creating a disaster to crush it instead.

“You must put me...back...” Grimm says.

“No!” Grimmchild says, “Both of you go!”

Ghost nods, their hands latching onto Brumm’s mask. With a deft tug they yank the troupe mask off, something surprisingly painless though Brumm hides his face all the same.

With the mask in their hands, they snap it onto their face, the artifact shaping to the dark contours of their face until it resembles something like the old mask they wore, but with the coloration and markings of the Grimmkin mask.

Grimmchild wraps his cloak round Ghost, whose hand grabs his chest. They look to Brumm, holding Grimm as they sink into the reforming ground.

“Go, both of you,” says Grimmchild, “I promise both of us will return some day. We can do this, right Ves?”

After all this time wandering, going between Grimmchild’s and Brumm’s misaimed affections, Ghost knows how they can make their return meaningful. They nod, agreeing with Grimmchild in their own way. They want to make this Heart right, their way.  They hold tight, not wanting to let go of Grimmchild.

"Take care of each other," urges Grimmchild, "You owe each other that."

Grimm and Brumm sink away, watching the two wave before dark takes their vision.

Brumm...now Nymm once more stands at a doorway. He knows somewhere his friends Ghost and Grimmchild are in the nightmare realm. Either of them could have used that power to end Grimm and simply continue on like many in the cycle before. But as he has said, you choose what binds you. And as they have chose to end the endless cycle of the Nightmare Heart, he and Grimm chose to journey from this massive doorway. It’s quite massive, far bigger than any one bug could have built, yet someone must have cracked open that doorway before. He has never been to this part of Hallownest before, yet being here feels...right.

Grimm strides by his side. Nymm sinks his head, ashamed. “You see me as I am, I suppose.”

The former troupe master laughs, his hand tilting up the bug’s head, “Did you forget? This is how I first saw you. This is why I brought you into my troupe.”

“Oh...” gratitude can never be conveyed enough through his words, so he merely grasps Grimm’s hand, his limb gently rubbing circles into the back of Grimm’s palm. Grimm looks into the door that leads into Hallownest, “What do you suppose of us now?”

“I suppose,” Nymm muses, “I should find a new instrument.”

“Yes...”Grimm moves forward with his musician, “That would be a start.”

The path forward is desolate, but not the desolation of the Nightmare Heart. Here in the craggy surface of rocks and stalactites, one hears and sees the promise of life coming back. Further down the way they run into a worm creature. Not quite big, but one with pincers and half a featureless face. Grimm bends down to speak with her, “Greetings. Have you lost your way?”

She looks embarrassed at the mere thought, “I swear I can’t remember what I was doing...this isn’t like me at all!”

He gestures to Nymm, “We’re both coming to the nearest village, perhaps you wish to come with us?”

She scoots along with the both of them, “I could use some company. It’s quite dull!”

“Very well then,” he looks to his musician, “As long as my friend approves.

“I wouldn’t mind more,” Nymm looks upwards, “Three feels right...”

She grins, slithering with her newfound company.

Nymm takes note of a puzzled expression, “Something on your mind?”

“Both of you have that...tip of the tongue look. I can’t place it,” she says.

Grimm closes his eyes, holding Nymm close, “I suppose it will come to you...with time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the slap-after-slap of chapters. I must admit, I have a selfish reason for finishing this fic: with how everything went this year, I wanted to have a tangible achievement before my birthday. I hope you enjoy this fic either way. Also yes, that worm at the end is Divine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a prologue to establish mood, the general direction of the story.


End file.
